


Terminals

by Suiisen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Again because what else would it be, Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, bittersweet mmmmm yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:43:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suiisen/pseuds/Suiisen
Summary: Light January snow fall, cold and chilled; the train connecting two cities has already departed.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Kudos: 9





	Terminals

**Author's Note:**

> 𝐚/𝐧; Aioi Station is a station in the Hyōgō prefecture and Akō Line is one of the train lines based there, but it only goes so far as Higashi-Okayama Station and as such demands a line change to Sanyō main line to get to Okayama Station.

A soft, familiar jingle.

_"The train bound for Higashi-Okayama Station, Okayama, will arrive soon. Please stand behind the yellow line."_

A heavy silence weighs on the cold evening air for nobody but you, dull aching hands snug within the pockets of your coat. A scarf huddles your neck; the station is still bustling, still alive. In all their ignorance, nameless faces pool around you, waiting for the next train dutifully behind the double lines of yellow. Someone brushes past, prompting profuse apology - you give them a slight nod without really hearing a single syllable they say.

Feet stuck to the station platform, you watch the petals of snow drift to the floor, vanishing after a short-lived existence. The train whirrs as it slows to a gradual stop; should you wait for the next one to arrive? The station might be emptier then - to have for just yourself, each display board and Kanji written in ebbing white print intertwined with a bittersweetness. 

There's no time to think - an icy gale propels you forward, propels you into motion; Atsumu's warm laughter kindles within your thoughts to replace intercom echoes of a familiar accent in a misplaced voice. 

A half-hearted smile is concealed by the frosted fabric resting on your shoulders, every breath a partially formed ghost of what you'd left unsaid but both had come to realise now; among the straggling crowd, you push off of Aioi Station's snow-kissed platform and into the train.

It's a harsh and instantaneous parting, an unspoken, wordless goodbye as so many things had been lately. There's no longer a pang wrapping around your chest with each step, begging you to text him as soon as a seat was found - contact info; Miya Atsumu. 

The window seat. It had always been a matter of dispute when you'd taken trains in past - wait, when had you ever taken trains together? It had always been a one way ordeal, hadn't it. Hands still in your pockets, phone on silent as you silently observe the other side of the station now visible through the glass panel; one new message.

« Get home safe. » 

A gesture of courtesy.

People continue entering, walking past in uniform silence or hushed tones. Someone sits next to you; another announcement, your eyes still tracing what they would soon erase as the snow picks up. Was he looking at it too?

_"This train is bound for Higashi-Okayama Station. Please put your mobile phone on silent mode and refrain from speaking on the phone during the journey. Thank you for using Akō Line."_

Higashi-Okayama Station - line change to Sanyō Main Line in order to reach Okayama Station, you knew it like the back of your hand; it would ebb away from memory like the white print Kanji of the display board. 

What had you really even come here for, if not to inadvertently say goodbye?

* * *

He'd given you a smile - it wasn't truly his. It hadn't been for a while, but you'd clung onto hope until it ceased to hold importance. 

“How will you get to the station?”

Your own smiles were now plastered; practised. 

“Let me drive you to the station, Y/n.”

* * *

The landscape blurs, lost in the snow as your train sets into motion; an instantaneous and harsh parting from it's platform, one you can no longer trace or see, and you turn away from the fogged up glass. Your hands are grasping tightly onto words you'd lost in the pockets of your coat; the distance between you and Atsumu becomes physical, unquestionable - headed towards the terminal.


End file.
